


The King and the Eagle

by UlfredIsSupremeEndgame (UlfredIsAthelnarSons)



Series: Ulfred Babes [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alfred needed a hug, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Dont know what it's sadder, Fluff and Angst, Gay King Alfred PRIDE, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, as tirc said on tumblr WE WERE ROBBED, follows some events of season 6, i can't believe they didnt meet on the finale, i spent a month to post it, so this fic is as sad as me, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlfredIsAthelnarSons/pseuds/UlfredIsSupremeEndgame
Summary: As the war ends, Alfred has to deal with his feelings and heal his broken heart alone.
Relationships: Alfred & Elsewith (Vikings), Alfred & Hvitserk (Vikings), Alfred/Ubbe (Vikings)
Series: Ulfred Babes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140341
Comments: 19
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

King Alfred could never stop looking at the waves after the war.

The vikings were fast to get to his coast. It seemed their favorite, maybe because they thought of him as a weak man, a powerless king. Someone easy to manipulate and defeat, subject to their will and their fierce army. That’s why they swore on their arm rings and broke their promises. They didn’t respect him.

Not more than the first viking who he ever face in combat as king, the northern leader Harald Finehair. This man invaded his country and placed himself in York for almost a year before Alfred could finally send him away. So many of his men were killed with the invasion - and still there were quickly raids to his villas.

Sometimes, they did something worse.

They retreated to the sea and came back so early he would never be able to rest. Once they got into their ships, within a month they would be back again. The same troops, the same kings. Wanting money, wanting gold and wanting land.

He would have nightmares those nights, with the image of the hell the raids were. He would wake up alone in his bed, cheering that Elsewith didn’t sleep there that night. Cause even if he was a king, he had weaknesses, but he couldn’t be seen having it.

That weakness, perhaps, was a lack of sleep.

And that wasn’t completely untrue, since his sleep became secondary and his prayers were more restful than his bed or any place in the palace full of people.

Although, there was indeed a place where he would go and stay there forever, not coming back at least he was called, possibly by a monk or a messenger from a lord.

In that room, he watched the furious ocean.

Waiting for not a trope, but for a viking, only one viking, to come back to him. A ship with his father’s dark raven in a red banner to fly over his coast.

Coming back viking or christian, he couldn’t care less. But for reasons why he couldn’t speak out loud, he waited, sitting next to an actually large window in his old chambers. As soon as he got there, he forgot about the possibility of a slaughter. He did, thought, remembered about the threats he once saw in his kingdom. And he hoped, sometimes in prayer, that a single threat would try raid, dangling people ruthlessly and screaming mad at the ones he had to kill to take a city, to win a battle.

He would dream daily of a drakkar, with flags covering its crew from both sun and from dishonor. He would dream that a reasonable man,with his big blue eyes would jump from this boat, with his long arms holding a shield and on his waist, an axe.

And this viking would scream he had came in peace. He wanted to see King Alfred. He was an earldom, and this man would contract his cheek as saying so, because he hated titles. He hated ruling anything. He was as free as the beautiful waves from the ocean that colored his eyes.

As the soldiers around him would kept their bowls and arrows pointed at his pretty head, he would yell at them.

“I am Ubbe, the baptized son of Ragnar and I want to see the king!”

Or he would only scream the name of his father. Maybe, he wouldn’t be alone, but with his trope to actually conquest Wessex with his brothers.

The king was afraid it was something he actually hoped for.

In the middle of his dream, Alfred closed his eyes to see him better. To remember all his handsome traits. Cause, and Lord help him, he couldn’t forget anything, any centimeter, any inch of him. Any blonde hair on his skin. Any bruise after a battle, any scar he had due to fighting and training.

So he remembered him perfectly, as he was, strong and gentle, handsome and tall. Alfred would stay right there for as long as he could, with his eyes closed to outside world, despite wide open to his imagination.

Alfred was often amazed by his small smile on his red thin lips, his sweet look to him while they talked. His firm touch, the way he moved towards the woods when they first trained together, silently as a cat, and the way he taught him about an instrument of war: the catapult.

He did laugh as his glances at him while he first saw the giant thing on the field yard came to his mind. He was fascinated by its construction, its size, and Ubbe was clearly happy to see him that way.

How could he ever forget something like that?

Alfred could only open his eyes when he heard a noise,taking him out of chilling. Cause in his heart, it could have been an horn, a viking from a ship that has just been placed at his beach.

But it was often a bird or even a cat, mostly like an animal making a nothing like noise to the warnings the vikings used. Sometimes, he would think it was a signal of him.

_you could take an eagle as your personal symbol._

_Ubbe looked at him, dizzy. “And why would I?”_

_Alfred glanced at him sharpening his axe blade, so carefully he thought Ubbe might saw it as a baby._

_”It... hm, it’s bigger than a raven. Not a better hunter than a hawk, but as watcher as it can.”_

_Ubbe smiled gently, putting his axe down and crawling slowly to the boy laid on the dry leaves. “So?”_

His voice was lazy, his head was bending to one side.

_”It’s the strongest of the birds of prey. And it doesn’t have to be in just one place. It changes, it moves away.”_

_He breathed deeply. “It’s free and independent. And although strong, it’s beautiful.”_

_”I thought of a dragon as a personal standard and you thought of me as a little bird, Alfred?” he faked anger in his expression, frowning his brows and his nose - his smile couldn’t say otherwise, though, he was having a good time. Alfred moves his legs slightly towards him and he smirked to his gesture of anxiety.  
_

_The king laughed and gave his lover a punch in his muscular shoulder. “No, arse. I don’t think there’s a freer animal than a bird. A bird set free can fly to wherever it wants. Just... like you.”_

_Ubbe lift his brows to his king._

_”I don’t intend to fly so soon, Alfred.”_

_The exiled prince of Kattegat put an arm around his waist._

_”I have at least two responsibilities I cannot leave here. And they are: the settlement and you.” Alfred pulled his mouth to one side of his face._

_”Am i burden, then?” he asked in a sincere tone. As busy as he was, he didn’t mind. He could understand if Ubbe saw him that way, cause he truly believed he could be._

_”No.”_

Alfred tingled his fingers towards his silver cross.

_”No, no.” Ubbe reached for his short dark hair. Alfred leaned to the touch, closing his eyes. If he knew those were one of their last time together, he would have maintained them open._

_To see him again._

_”You’re my present, and yet I want you to be part of my future, I cannot say if you will...” he said honestly. “An eagle wouldn’t land in a castle for too long. It would get prisoned or killed.”_

_King Alfred searched his other hand, on his waist, to squeeze._

_”I free you to go, Ubbe. But you’ll be always in my heart.”_

_Ubbe Ragnarsson couldn’t held his gaze._

_”Nor will you escape from mine.” Alfred felt his heart stop and he wondered if he was happy or afraid. A finger caressed his hand, touching his pale skin softly._

_”That’s why I’m still here. I have to make sure you won’t... hurt... when I go. Not for too long. That is my other left responsibility.”_

_“Don’t you think i’ll let you run away from me, do you?” Ubbe teased and Alfred laughed at it._  
_“No.”_

He drunk wine until he ended up spilling it on the wood of the altar. While cleaning it carefully, realizing Ubbe hadn’t come back that day, he got up and prayed silently for his well being, and for his heart. He would look at the ocean once more and step away from the quarters of a prince, but not a christian one - Prince Ubbe Ragnarsson.

The chambers of the devil.

The next day, he would stay longer in that bedroom, and the sequence of his routine would get later until another viking army would arrive, and he would have to fight it over again. Unfortunately, its leader was never Ubbe.

And he would win the battle, he would get those vikings to fear him or to mock him, and he would kneel in his altar and pray for him to be strong and to have courage, to believe in himself, to be aware of wearing his crown.

However, this time he faced a different enemy. When he knew the sons of Ragnar were there alongside two hundred hundred ships, he didn’t act as was expected from someone who wanted so much viking to visit him. He couldn’t help but to ask God for forgiveness of his soul, as he sinned everyday in thought.

Alfred was a sin himself. How could he not sin in love, if his parents both have done it?

He thought God had abandoned him.

The war was rough, again, and his sickness attacked him, once more. Ivar the Boneless wanted to play chess with him again and Alfred did every move he expected to do. Alfred was afraid it was God’s punishment to cry for his love.

“King Alfred of Wessex has won the great invasion of the sons of Ragnar!”

 _He_ _wouldn’t_ have done it, though, if Ivar the Boneless hasn’t had his own sickness to betray him, as he was stabbed by a thin knife. And he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for Alfred's despise of the northmen disrespect and his people’s anger.

I wouldn’t have won, he dismounted his horse with a knight helping him to the ground. _if it wasn’t for what you taught_ _me, Ubbe._ He even remembering cutting his hair to not be blinded in his fight. _But you have again betrayed me, Ubbe_.

_you have left me again. Every time I see an approaching boat and it’s not you, you break my heart again. And they bleed my country._

Hvitserk, the son of Ragnar who survived, looked little to his other brothers, Alfred could think of that. He was taller but smaller in size. He had middle blonde hair braided into many strands that could never look like Ubbe’s long strand, neither did his face - his eyes were light green, as Ubbe carried the sky and the sea into his face and Ivar was a black headed guy like himself, being tall when he could stand up. His grave, if it was for Alfred’s decision, would never be violated.

However, Hvitserk was a comfort. Due to Hvitserk’s virtue of humility after being baptized, alfred could talk to him for hours. He could smile and he could even have small laughs with him. In those moments, Alfred would hold his necklace and kiss it, imagining when he would reunite with the one who made him laugh most in his life.

Hvitserk was the second son after Ubbe. Athelstan, now it was his name, due to Alfred’s father. He should have asked for Hvitserk’s opinion, but as he grew to know Brother Athelstan better, he realized he wouldn’t complain about it. He was a follower, not a strong minded man. Ubbe was, though, he was free as the birds of his religion, as Odin’s ravens.

Sometimes he would even train with Hvitserk as his arm was recovering, and the berserker proved himself again so much different from Ubbe, his fastness and explosion thrusts even scaring Alfred who had already been to so many battles - and fought Ubbe in private, got his recognition as at least a basic warrior. Those afternoons made his heart melt with the memories of another man, and he would sleep so well he wouldn’t want to wake up the other day.

“You are healing fast. “ said Hvitserk, smiling as he hadn’t seen since his brother’s death. He wish he could say something to amenize his sorrow, yet he knew he could make things worse. The man who stabbed his brother gained lands and titles, and in the ceremony Hvitserk didn’t even open his mouth.

“Thank you.” Alfred nodded and said “You’re a hurricane compared to your past brother, brother Althelstan.”

Hvitserk frowned his brows. Alfred felt like a catch, a surrounded cat even though he was king of almost all England.

“Have you fought my brothers? Face-to-face?”

Alfred suddenly knew, then, that he didn’t know exactly what we’re his brothers doing in England. Neither did he know, for sure, how things were in Scandinavia while Alfred was being threatened in his kingdom, or even when the Ragnarssons left.

“Ubbe has taught me a thing or two.” He never felt swallowing was so difficult.

Hvitserk shook his head slightly.

“He never told me about you” He examined his face, trying to get anything that could sound as a lie. his eyes were not dilated, he had even lowered his eyelids so they became smaller and sinister. His mouth was closed in a straight thin line. He felt so much into examining his face that he didn’t realize Hvitserk was doing the same to him, and he wasn’t taking care of hiding his emotions.

He breathed hard and looked down.

“I guess he wouldn’t have any reason to do so. He helped his enemy to win a war against his own countrymen. I wouldn’t expect him to tell it.” He half cocked his head, struggling. “Isn’t it a shame in your culture?” He drew a line with his sword on the earth. “I can’t even thing of being baptized? Ubbe almost refused my proposition.” 

He then engulfed his lips to his own mouth, then returning it in a pout as he kept drawing on the solo. “In mine it would be a shame, too, although I admit that crucifying apostles is off the table.” Alfred gazed at him who was still looking at the king.

Hvitserk lifted his eyebrows,parting his lips before he spoke for a moment. “I was drunk half the time Ubbe was in Kattegat. The last time we saw each other. Probably more than that, probably the majority. We didn’t talk once.”

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek. “That's what I talking about. Not betraying your country and people.” He had a bitter tone.

_How can I apologize, son of Ragnar?_

Alfred finally looked at him in the eye.

“Would you prefer not to be offered wine?”

Hvitserk winked a bit. “What?”

The king swallowed hard. “Your drunkness. Would you prefer not to be offered wine to you in the mass, neither in your monastery?”

The baptized viking furrowed his brows. “No. No.” he smiled again, shyly. “Beer was like water to me before. But I… i had problems. I was sick. Not necessary, though. It’s alright.”

Alfred nodded to that, and in a second later he was listening to his voice again - what was pretty uncommon. “You are very gentle, King Alfred.”

King Alfred. What a name. Alfred of Wessex and Mercia.

He raised his brows. What a name.

“Not gentle enough, Athelstan.”

Alfred wielded his sword, his heart skipping a bit, pretending he didn’t hear Hvitserk’s words. “Now, please, Brother Athelstan, get to your position.”

_you are obvious gentle enough. Ubbe would have talked about you._ He smiled _. I’m sure._

Brother Athelstan was, actually, disturbed by his past as Alfred was disturbed by his future. He would tell the king when he visited him, or even when he was sick and Athelstan got there to take care of him alongside his wife and doctors, that he loved his brothers so much he thought of killing himself to get to them.

At that moment, Alfred’s heart ended its breaking, it crashed all apart.

Cause he prayed everyday he would reunite with his love, but he knew he would only do that if God allowed him to visit Ubbe in Valhala.

And that night, he kneeled before his altar and cried for his loved man, and would pray for him and for his soul. He asked, out loud, having finally the courage of knowing what he wanted.

“Ubbe, where are you?” He closed his eyes, not wanting to forget. 

“When will you come back to me?” His fingers were shaking, his hands were shaking and soon he was trembling to the floor, bending over his altar and begging for help.

God help him, he would forget even his own face, although not Ubbe’s caressing smile, not his name, nor his love. And he would never forget to watch the waves, looking for his lover, looking for the day they would meet again.


	2. In the Company of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Alfred tries to find comfort in the company of others, but specially in his new ally and friend, Hvitserk Ragnarsson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t intend to write a long series of this, although there were so much material on my head. But, as you requested, I deliver to you... the second chapter.  
> Hope you like it! Hope so much!

Alfred tried his best to rest. That was the meaning of his life, he supposed, being trapped merciless and loveless in the darkest and coldest Castle of all England - but yet his favorite one since his memories were fresher in that place.

  
Being a prisoner of his own love and trying to rest, to sleep with a tired heart. He often could do this with Hvitserk, training hard and having talks. Kneeling on his althar and praying. Praying in the Cathedral, praying in his bedroom.  
King Alfred soon realized that maybe, and just maybe, the comfort of human beings would help him sewing his soul again.  
Enduring his own suffering, as dark as the nights which followed his brutal loneliness to the Edge of his not ending sorrow.

So he tried. Once he got out of his meetings, before he would sneak into his sacred bedroom, he would visit the training yards. That, of course, hurt him even more, and he was tapping his fingers at the back of his hand which held a rosary and doing the chaplet, moving his lips just enough to hear himself praying.

He wouldn't admit that his mind perhaps truly believed that the Northman with piercing and hypnotic blue eyes would be waiting for him. Of course, he wasn’t. But there was someone. Someone who actually disturbed his prayer with a prank, jumping on his back as a child. As he saw who it was, he hoped it were a child.

He felt his body bending, his knees going forward and he was soon to the floor. Due to his weight on his shoulder, Alfred almost fell down and had to be saved by his own attacker.

  
Hvitserk Ragnarsson.

  
 _Athelstan. Brother Athelstan_  
Probably, the most dangerous man in England. Under his command. Under his faith, baptized and converted to Christianism. Alfred was a rabbit holding a wolf by chains, chains that he couldn’t lift up.

Nevertheless, a smiling viking that weighed way too much to be carried by the king, unprepared. He smirked to Hvitserk, although too late: he had already put his lips in a line - the most serious expression he could make, Alfred believed. When it wasn’t sad and regretful. Or fearful.

  
“Brother Athelstan.” He greeted him with a nod. “What are you doing here?”  
Hvitserk smiled shyly again _. Ubbe never smiled. To no one. Only to me._ Hvitserk smiled little, too, as the same agony that rushed through his veins now once had poisoned Ubbe.  
“Making pranks. Trying to make the king mad. This kind of stuff.”  
His smile was bright, even in the night. He reminded him of another bright and honest smile, that he kept within himself for so long.  
“Really reasonable stuff, I guess.” Hvitserk bowed his head, laughing. “Indeed, my king.”

  
Alfred liked the guy, though his hard breath could suggest something different. He thought of him as an actually kind man, and he was funny when they both weren’t crying on their insides for their lost ones.

“Did you follow me?” he asked, still half-smirking at him. Hvitserk was moving towards him, and the king recalled he had already seen him move like that. Fully excited, totally into his own mood, almost lazy. He had seen him moving like that twice already. Once in York, fighting his father Althewulf and months ago, having fun in killing Alfred’s soldiers.  
Hvitserk was swinging his arms around his torso, smiling as great as Alfred realized he hadn't seen him this way since the battle. The King squeezed his belt, both hands to his body, next to his sword.

  
“You were following me.”

  
Hvitserk laughed longly, throwing his head back and running his hand on his hair.“I was.”, he responded. He looked down, his feet tracing a squadre on the leaves. Alfred knew he shouldn’t trust him completely. Something on his mind told him he shouldn’t listen to Vikings anymore. He had made a choice, he had chose to defeat them with violence, not surrender to the will of the Devil. However, Hvitserk’s posture was sad or was to please him. Making easy conversation or training him. Or praying at his bed to the king to heal.

“Then I should fire my guards.”

  
Hvitserk giggled. “Am I that so scary?” He angled his head to his side. Alfred turned to the other.

 _Yes, but no._ Alfred trusted him. He had been loyal to the crown for months now, and Alfred believed he would have betrayed him before if he wanted. There were Vikings, Norwegians, attacking him as soon as Ivar the Boneless got defeated. He could have easily joined them, and Alfred was so much sure about that as he had dumbed his guards to see the king alone, as Ubbe had done so many times.  
The similarities were shocking. Although so different from one another, Alfred found him reliable and respected him the same. And he enjoyed his company as much as he did to his brother.  
He would allow him to make him love him as a friend and betray him. He would let him do it. He didn’t mind. He made him happy now, with his friendship. As Ubbe did with his love and care.  
“What are you doing here, my lord king?”  
Alfred bit his lips, inclining his head to one side. “I was looking for peace.”  
“Then I am actually a troublemaker, am I not?”  
Alfred couldn't help but laugh. “No. You didn’t disturb my peace. Let me tell you a secret: I haven’t found it. It seems like my peace is…”  
The king was caught into his own mud. His own sorrow.  
 _It’s your brother. It’s whoever would make me feel less lonely, less unhappy, less tired. I’t´s his company. It’s whatever would make me feel better._ Alfred didn't have any possible answer to his own saying. _Who am I trying to fool?_  
 _I need the one who I love the most. I need the last one I truly loved._  
“You will find it. I will… pray for you.” Hvitserk whispered, again, taking him out of his head. The saxon king sighed, breathing as deep as he could in one second.  
“My peace is lost at sea.”

Hvitserk lift his brows, his forehead frowned, but he commented nothing. He stayed in silence for a moment, as Alfred felt his heart going back to normal. The king looked to his own hands, now united again with the rosary. He glimpsed Hvitserk gazing at him, and he gave him a smirk, going back to what he was doing before he was interrupted, praying.  
“I hope you find your way back to the castle, Brother Athelstan.”  
He heard a sigh. Dry leaves being crushed. A wolf surrounding his prey. Hvitserk walking closer to him.  
“I don’t think I’m wanted there, King Alfred.”

_Why would they want a viking among them, Hvitserk? Why do you think they would want you without my presence, when they can lie and pretend they are fine with the decision I have made?_

“Then you can stay here. There’s no problem to me.”  
He shook his shoulders slightly, chuckling. “Thank you, my lord king.” And he chukled again, making “his lord king” stare at him.

“Would you like to pray with me?” he could get over Hvitserk joking about his titles. All the Vikings he has seen had made fun of it as well. Except for one or two.  
“No.” he answered quickly, as he was running away from something. As the part of Alfred that didn’t trust him wanted to do. But he only nodded to that.  
“Alright.” He lift his brown. “Is it disturbing?”  
He saw the move Hvitserk had to do, right now. Why wouldn’t a Christian Brother not want to pray with the king? He saw this smile vanishing, his eyes going down, his body tense. His fists clenching.  
Hvitserk didn’t answer.

Hvitserk, Althelstan, the viking in saxon clothes then got in front of him, touching him in the collar of his leather black shirt, grabbing him in his shoulder with his other hand. Alfred felt his throat working by its own, and he swallowed hard and his breath had stopped when Alfred realized he was afraid.  
His eyes widened, light green, not blue, but as in the coldest ocean of Ubbe sapphires, full of regret.

  
“I could say the same thing, if I was prisoner here thinking as I did years ago. I would say that my viking spirit was my peace. I dont know what is yours… But mine? My peace… is here. It’s buried under rocks. It’s buried in your solo.”

Alfred swallowed hard. His arms tensed, Alfred finally trying to release Hvitserk’s grip. His hands were steady on the viking’s wrists, lugging them away from his body slowly. The Ragnarsson wasn’t that angry, but Alfred needed to be careful.

“Brother Athelstan.”  
 _That is not his name._

“Here is where my family died. My brothers… my father.” Hvitserk lamented to Alfred’s own sorrow. His green eyes became shady under the moonlight, darker, and he was terrified to realize they were watery.

  
“And so are mine.” the king roared back.

His lover’s brother was confused. His lips soon disappeared inside his mouth and came back wet, his brows frowning.

“But yet, Athelstan, it is my burden. And it's the hardest burden of all.” Hvitserk turned his face away. _Hvitserk Ragnarsson is crying._

“My only peace…” the king continued, cocking his head to catch if he was right. He was looking to the woods, and only as he noted Alfred’s intense gaze he looked back to him.  
“… is praying.”  
The king watched as Hvitserk’s expression softened, and his body was relaxed, even if there was still sadness on his being. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, maybe kidding.  
“So…” He moved his hands over each other, crossing his arms on his chest. “I was disturbing you.”  
Hvitserk smirked a little at the king, and he made his way to his upper arm which a few moments ago were on the king’s clothes.

“I wouldn’t lie about that. No, you were not. Please.” He caressed him gently. “If you’d like, please, make me company for a little longer.”  
He bit his inside cheek. “And tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO HELLO! IM so happy for the reviews I’ve been receiving. So, my girl and some people asked me to do more chapters, so here we are! We’re still going to have an Ubbe POV, it’s already partly written, but it needs more development to finally get there... then, i promise you it will be short, a long fic will only be published after the ending of this one.  
> IT IS A series, so if you like this work, you should probably watch on if there’s any more there. Thank you for your attention!


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